


something resembling a normal life

by zach_stone



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Bonding, F/M, Family Feels, Lots of Sam introspection and guilt, Mild Angst, Post-Canon, Thanksgiving, and the Drake brothers having a heart-to-heart because I live for that shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 12:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14112138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zach_stone/pseuds/zach_stone
Summary: “It’s just a couple days and a dinner, y’know,” Victor said.Sure. Sam had been in prison more times than he could count, stared down the barrel of a thousand different guns, watched his little brother tumble off a cliff to what he’d been sure was death — so why did this feel like the scariest thing he’d faced?--Sam Drake attends Thanksgiving weekend at the Drake-Fisher household and grapples with how he fits into his brother's new life.





	something resembling a normal life

**Author's Note:**

> well hello! this is my first ever fic in the uncharted fandom, which i started writing late last year after i finished uc4. i've always been a sucker for brother plotlines (thank u glee season 3 episode 15 for awakening that in me) and i LOVED the dynamic of sam and nate, so of course i had to write something. sam is such an interesting character to try and get in the headspace of, and i hope i did him justice. i love my garbage son.
> 
> this is incredibly self-indulgent but hopefully it's in character and enjoyable!!!

The Morgans had rarely been ones for family traditions, let alone celebrating holidays with any sort of fanfare or regularity. After Cassandra Morgan died and her sons were unceremoniously dropped off at the St. Francis orphanage, well — “traditional family” got chucked right out the window.

So to say that Samuel Drake was anxious about spending Thanksgiving weekend with his baby brother and his baby brother’s wife, in their nice house on a nice street in a nice neighborhood, was a bit of an understatement. He watched the houses whiz past the passenger side window as Victor drove down Nathan’s street. Jesus, some of these places had literal white picket fences. Sam tapped his fingers nervously against the glass. He’d kill for a cigarette right now, but they were in a rental car. Stinking it up with smoke was strictly prohibited, according to the rental guy. Asshole.

He heard Victor huff out a soft, amused breath, and tore his gaze away from the mailboxes and manicured shrubbery to glance at his companion. The older man was side-eyeing him. Sam really hated the knowing look in his eye.

“What?” he said irritably. “Eyes on the road, Victor.”

Victor just laughed, although he did turn his attention back to the road in front of him. “Nervous?”

Sam scoffed, though it sounded unconvincing even to his own ears. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“It’s just a couple days and a dinner, y’know,” Victor said.

Sure. Sam had been in prison more times than he could count, stared down the barrel of a thousand different guns, watched his little brother tumble off a cliff to what he’d been sure was death — so why did _this_ feel like the scariest thing he’d faced? “Victor,” he said, his tone a condescending drawl. “I think I can handle it. Thanks for the concern, though.”

The car slowed in front of a (very nice) house, a minivan already parked along the curb. Right, it wasn’t just the domesticity of Nathan and Elena he’d be facing; Elena’s sister and nephew were also staying for the long weekend. Sam had balked at the prospect of the whole thing when Nathan had invited him, but his brother was too good at needling him, going on about _it’s been months since I’ve seen you_ and _so much lost time to make up for_ and _Elena makes the_ best _cherry cobbler_. Admittedly, it had been that last one that really sealed the deal. When you spend over a decade in prison, good food’s a pretty strong motivator.

“This is it, huh?” Sam said, peering up at the attic window of the house. In the past year and a half since he’d waltzed back into Nathan’s life, he’d yet to visit him at home. That wasn’t entirely on accident, either. Sam wasn’t sure he… _belonged_ in neighborhoods like this. “Nice place.”

“Yep,” Victor said. He killed the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt. After a moment’s hesitation, Sam followed suit, and the two of them got out of the car. Victor took a moment to stretch, rubbing at his lower back. “Little further from the airport than I’d like,” he added. “You ready?”

Sam rolled his eyes and made for the front porch. He was _fine_. He’d survived thirteen years in prison and two years with a weasel-faced lunatic. He could handle a little domesticity. He rang the doorbell.

It only took a second for the door to swing open, and Elena was standing there, looking pleased to see them and _very_ pregnant. She was about six months along if Sam remembered correctly. He’d seen pictures, and Nathan had even sent him the ultrasound, but it was still weird seeing it in person.

“Hi,” Elena said, smiling at both of them. “Come on in, Angela just got here about a half hour ago. Nate,” she called over her shoulder, “your entourage is here!” She stepped back to let them in.

“How ya doin’, sweetheart?” Victor asked, giving her a brief hug.

“Oh, you know,” she said, resting a hand on her stomach. “Tired. Round.”

“How’s the parasite?” Sam asked with a wry grin. Victor elbowed him, but Elena just laughed. She stood on her toes to give Sam a hug too, and he patted her back awkwardly.

“Well, half the time it feels like she’s sucking all the life out of me, so she’s doing a pretty good job,” Elena said. As she spoke, Nathan came skidding around the corner into view. When he spotted them, his face broke into that same stupid grin he always seemed to have whenever he saw Sam these days. A sort of delighted surprise, like he still couldn’t believe his brother was alive even after more than a year. Something guilty and ashamed pooled in Sam’s gut, but he shoved it down, giving Nathan a two-fingered wave.

“Good to see you, little brother,” he said. He watched as Nathan and Victor hugged, Victor murmuring, “hey there, kid,” and then Nathan came over to Sam and clapped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Nathan said. He sounded so goddamn earnest.

“Yeah,” Sam said, and he tried to mean it. “Yeah, me too.”

It was just a weekend, just a dinner. He could do this, no problem at all. 

\-- 

“Are you serious?” Nathan said, his voice more whiny than indignant. Elena, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, was unmoved.

“Of course I’m serious, it’s _Thanksgiving_. We can’t just not have cranberry sauce.”

“But it’s _the day before Thanksgiving_ ,” Nathan retorted, imitating her tone. “The store’s going to be a nightmare.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage,” Elena deadpanned.

From his vantage point on the other side of the kitchen, a half-finished beer in hand, Sam smirked. He already knew Elena didn’t take any bullshit, and seeing it in action was amusing him to no end.

“And don’t worry, I’m not sending you into the trenches alone,” Elena continued. As her gaze slid over to Sam, he felt his amusement wither up and die. “Sam can go with you.”

“Now hold on, now,” Sam protested, raising an imperious finger. “You can’t just go roping me into —” He stopped short at the look Elena gave him. For a five-foot-two pregnant lady, she sure did look like she could chuck him over the counter if she wanted to. “Who even likes cranberry sauce?” he said weakly. Nathan made a noise of agreement, gesturing to Sam like he’d just made the winning argument.

“You know, after last year, I really think you two can handle it.” Elena’s voice was cool, casual, but Sam caught the warning underneath. Bringing up last year was _maybe_ a low blow, but Sam figured if anyone had a right to use that particular form of guilt-trip, it was Elena Fisher.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Nathan grumbled. Sam shuffled after his brother, downing the last of his beer before tossing it in the recycling bin. Yeah, his brother’s house had a _recycling bin_. Fucking bizarre.

“I still don’t see why _I_ have to come,” Sam muttered as he and Nathan got into the car.

Turning on the ignition, Nathan said, “I think Elena probably wanted you out of the house after you let her nephew drink your beer.”

“It was a sip!”

“Sam, he’s _four_.”

Sam chuckled. “Ah well, puts hair on your chest. Isn’t that what dad always said?”

“Please,” Nathan said, shaking his head. “Some family traditions don’t need to be resurfaced.”

The grocery store was, predictably, a madhouse. Seemed like everyone in the damn city had decided to buy their last-minute supplies at — Sam squinted up at the sign. _Whole Foods_.

“The hell is this place?” he asked. As they approached the sliding doors, Sam added, “This looks like a yuppie grocery store.”

Nathan looked embarrassed. “Elena likes this one.”

“Jesus. Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Sam teased. Nathan shoved him, jogging ahead the last few paces through the doors before Sam could retaliate. They made their way through the crowded aisles, dodging carts and customers as Nathan scanned the overhead signs.

They passed a mother pushing her cart, a toddler sitting in the little seat and babbling incessantly as it slapped its pudgy hands in rhythm against a box of brownie mix. Sam thought he should probably stop mentally referring to babies as “it.”

“Can you believe you’re gonna have one of those things?” he said to Nathan, nodding in the direction of the retreating toddler and cart. Nathan looked at him with a vaguely amused expression, and Sam realized a beat too late that calling babies “things” wasn’t much better.

“Yeah, it’s pretty wild,” Nathan agreed, still smirking. “Elena keeps talking about how huge she feels, but every time I think about how tiny that baby’s gonna be when she’s born…” he shook his head.

Sam had a sudden flash of Nathan in his early twenties, fumbling and dropping not one, not two, but _three_ artifacts they’d been trying to lift from a museum’s storage room. Trying to reconcile that with his now greying-at-the-temples brother, about to be in charge of an infant’s life, he said, “Please try not to drop your newborn child.”

Nathan huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, wasn’t planning on it.”

Sidestepping to get out of the path of a disgruntled looking man with an armful of carrots, Sam teased, “Just making sure. It’s not like our dad was a prime example of good parenting practices.”

“At least he never dropped us,” Nathan said. Sam chuckled slightly, tilting his head in agreement. “Anyway, I had other people to teach me how to take care of a kid.”

“Right,” Sam said. “Well listen, little brother, you wanna start emulating Victor Sullivan, you be my guest. But if you start wearing those godawful Hawaiian shirts, I’ll disown you.”

“I was talking about you, jackass,” Nathan said. He said it so casually, teasingly, like it was obvious. Sam felt something uncomfortably close to guilt stirring in his chest again. If Nathan thought the way to take care of a kid was dragging your baby brother through hell because you’d got it into your teenage skull that you were destined for greatness, well — he’d figured the childhood hero-worship had faded when Sam pulled his little stunt last year, but maybe he’d been wrong about that.

As always, Sam would rather not confront whatever emotions he was feeling right now. Shoving them back into some dark corner of his ribs, he rolled his eyes and said, “Sure, I’m a real father figure. Hey, instead of standing in the middle of the store like a couple of assholes, why don’t you grab us a cart so we can get a move on?”

“We’re only getting one thing,” Nathan said. “We don’t need a cart.”

“You seen this place? We’re gonna need a battering ram,” Sam said, gesturing at the mass of people around them.

Nathan looked annoyed, but he headed back to the front of the store and grabbed one of the few remaining carts. Sam watched him maneuver around the throng of people with little success, and by the time he’d almost bowled over a grandma, Sam had deduced that his brother was just as awful at steering shopping carts as he was cars. Nathan finally made it back over to Sam, looking frazzled. Sam pressed his lips together to contain his smirk, and Nathan narrowed his eyes.

“What?” Sam said, lifting his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say a word!”

“Yeah, you don’t have to,” Nathan said. He shook his head and pushed the cart forward, promptly ramming it into a display. The brothers watched as several cans of green beans toppled to the floor and rolled away, nearly tripping a few customers.

“Okay, I’m not judging here, I’m just saying —” Sam started, and Nathan turned around to glower at him.

“Do _you_ wanna drive?” he said. Sam burst out laughing.  

\--

 Thanksgiving-Eve dinner was Chinese takeout, because Elena was sick of cooking. The meal was held in the living room, everyone crowded around on couches and filling the space with laughter and idle conversation. Victor charmed Elena’s sister easily, somehow finding enough stories to tell that didn’t involve illegal activities. Nathan jumped in whenever he could, and the two fell into an easy banter, one they’d been perfecting for decades at this point. Resentment wormed its way into Sam’s belly, but it was a knee-jerk reaction more than anything else. He’d had years to stew over the fact that Victor Sullivan had elbowed his way into Nathan’s life as a guardian and made obvious just how shit a job Sam was doing by comparison.

Sam leaned against the wall, feeling removed from the whole situation, like he was watching one of those cheesy movies on the Hallmark channel. Elena leaned against Nathan’s shoulder and his arm went around her instinctively. The couple looked at each other and shared a smile. Sam shoved another forkful of noodles into his mouth.

After dinner, Victor volunteered himself and Sam to clear up, and Sam complied with only mild complaining. Before long everyone was shuffling off to bed — Angela and her son were sleeping in the spare bed in Elena’s office, while Victor and Sam were relegated to the couches. Everyone was going to sleep far earlier than Sam had anticipated, and Victor was out like a light within minutes, snoring loudly. Sam shifted around on the couch, trying to get comfortable, but after nearly half an hour of tossing and turning, he sat up, glaring into the darkness of the living room. He could fall asleep anywhere; he’d slept on hard cement and wet jungle underbrush, prison cells and pitching sailboat floors, but he couldn’t seem to sleep on this cushy couch in a peaceful suburban home.

Kicking off his blanket, Sam got up and shuffled over to the kitchen, easing open the fridge. Preparations for the next day’s meal were stacked inside, a leaning tower of tinfoil-wrapped plates and dishes. His eyes fell on the pan of cherry cobbler, and his stomach gave a loud gurgle in response. He glanced back over at the couches. Victor was still sawing logs, and the rest of the house was quiet. He turned back to the fridge, fingers inching towards the cobbler —

“Time for a midnight snack, huh?” a voice directly behind him said, and Elena was lucky that Sam had enough sense not to whirl around and punch her on reflex. As it was, he just let out a strangled yelp and spun a solid 180 degrees so fast that he almost fell backwards into the fridge. His sister-in-law was standing with her arms folded, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“Elena,” he breathed, righting himself and leaning heavily against the fridge door. “Jesus, you scared me. What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep, came down to get a glass of water,” she said. Her eyes danced with delight at his clear discomfort. “And what were you doing?”

“Uh,” he stalled, glancing around. “Also getting water?” His eyes fell on the filtered faucet across the room, and he remembered they didn’t keep water in the fridge. “I forgot… you had… a sink.”

“You’re a worse liar than Nate,” Elena said, chuckling. She pushed him out of the way and reached into the fridge, pulling out the cobbler. She eyed it critically for a moment before looking at him. “Do you want to split a piece of this? I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“I think they’re all gonna notice a piece missing,” Sam said, grinning despite himself.

Elena set the cobbler down on the counter and peeled back the foil. “Well, I made it and I’m pregnant, so screw them.”  

And that was how Sam Drake ended up sitting at the kitchen counter around 11 p.m. with his brother’s wife, picking at a slice of cobbler on a shared plate. When had his life become this particular brand of _weird?_

“Hey, so I got a question,” he said, scraping his fork along the plate to scoop up the dregs of cherry syrup.

“It’s a secret family recipe. And yes, it’s actually a box mix, but you tell anyone and I’ll kill you,” Elena said without looking up from the plate. Sam blinked at her for a moment, and she looked up with a grin. “I’m kidding.”

“You’re one scary lady, you know that?” he said. She hummed in affirmation, laughing softly. “ _Anyway_ , I was gonna ask… well, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m kinda surprised you don’t have some big, extended family shindig going on for Thanksgiving. Your type usually does that sorta thing, right?”

“My type?” Elena repeated.

Sam was well aware he was shoving his foot directly into his mouth, but he’d never been one to quit while he was ahead, so he decided to cram his other foot in there too and said, “Yeah, you know. Girl next door, white picket fence…”

Elena jabbed him in the forearm with her fork.

“Ah! Hey, what the hell?” he yelped. He looked down at the four pinpricks of red on his skin. “Look at me, I’m bleeding!”

“That’s just cherry,” Elena said dismissively. “Anyway. You sound like Chloe.” Her tone was leaning more towards amused than offended. “And while I don’t appreciate the stereotyping… you’re not exactly wrong. Mom and Dad are on their anniversary trip in Hawaii right now,” she explained. “Otherwise, the big shindig would be happening, yes. Though if I’m being honest? I’m kind of relieved it’s not. And I know Nate’s glad, he gets so awkward at those things.”

“Oh, Nathan goes with you?” Sam asked, rather stupidly. He tried to picture his little brother mingling with a bunch of upper-middle-class suburbanites in sweater vests and _not_ trying to pickpocket them.

“Yeah. Sort of comes with the whole ‘being my husband’ thing,” Elena said.

Sam huffed out a laugh. “Right.”

Their plate was empty, but neither of them was making a move to clear it just yet. Sam chewed on the inside of his cheek, deliberating. He had this terrible, impulsive urge to ask Elena if she hated him. Their late-night cobbler party of two would suggest not, but Elena seemed like the kind of person who’d split a dessert with her worst enemy. Like he’d said: girl next door, white-picket-fence type.

Instead he found himself saying, “Hey, can I… confess something?” His mouth twisted wryly at the turn of phrase. You can take the boy out of Catholic upbringing, but you can’t take the Catholic upbringing out of the boy, or something like that.

Elena’s eyes were curious, but warm. “Of course,” she said.

“I, uh… I don’t know how much Nathan’s told you, but when we were kids, we didn’t have any of this,” he gestured to the house around them. “Even before shit fell apart with my parents, things were — they were tense.”

“No shindigs?” she offered, and he smiled slightly.

“Not so much, no.” He cleared his throat. “And after our mom.... Point is, it was just me and Nathan, all my life. We didn’t need anybody else. And then I get stuck in hell for fifteen years, and when I come back, he’s made this whole… life.” Sam twisted his fingers together, staring at them intently. “He’s got this family that he pieced together, and, uh… I see how happy he is. With you, and Victor, and… well, I wonder.”

“You wonder if that would’ve happened if you’d been around,” Elena finished for him.

He didn’t respond, continuing to keep his eyes locked on his hands. Damn it, how was she able to read him so well? He had to admit, he was surprised she’d been able to piece that together from his half-formed ramblings.

The truth was, though Sam would rather die than say it out loud to Elena, he wasn’t sure if he would have _let_ Nathan build the life he’d found for himself. Sam had always thought he knew what was best for his little brother, but it seemed as though Nate had done a lot better without Sam’s help.

“Sam,” Elena said gently, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Whatever happened to get us all to this point, we’re here now. _You’re_ here now. And I know Nate’s really happy about that. We both are,” she added pointedly.

He cleared his throat and glanced up. “Yeah?” he said.

“Absolutely. I always wanted an older brother.”

Sam felt something twist up inside his chest. “Well, ain’t that something. I always wanted a sister,” he said. “Though as your typical overprotective older brother, I _do_ have to question your taste in men.”

Elena laughed. “Is that — oh!” She cut herself off, eyes widening a little as a hand dropped to her stomach. A stream of panicked thoughts rushed through Sam’s head: was she having the baby? How far along was she? It was way too early, right? Oh god, he was so not the right guy to be in this situation.

“What, what is it? Should I get Nathan?” he said frantically, standing up. But Elena just shook her head, a soft smile on her face.

“She’s kicking,” she said, moving her hand to a different part of her stomach. “Here, you wanna feel?”

“Oh, I don’t know —” Sam started, but Elena grabbed his hand and placed it against her stomach. At first there was nothing, just the swell of her pregnant belly beneath her shirt and the hushed silence between them. And then Sam felt it — a tiny kick, jolting against his palm. His eyes widened, and he looked up at Elena, who was full-on grinning at him.

“Did you feel it?” she asked.

He nodded, and felt another kick. “She’s really going at it, huh?” he said. “Tough little kiddo you got in there.” Sam removed his hand, clasping it with his other one.

“She’s feisty,” Elena agreed fondly. She eased herself out of her chair, smiling down at her stomach. Sam felt once again like he was intruding on something that was never meant to be his.

“I guess we oughta get back to bed. Wouldn’t wanna wake gramps over there.” Sam hooked a thumb in Victor’s direction. “The old man gets real cranky when you disturb his beauty sleep.”

“Believe me, I know,” Elena said. She patted Sam’s arm. “G’night, Sam. Good talk.”

“Night, Elena.” He watched her make her way back upstairs, rubbing at the pinpricks from the fork on his arm.

It turned out Elena was right. It was just cherry. 

\--

Maybe it was because he’d tossed and turned and gotten little sleep. Maybe it was the lingering marks from Elena’s fork, the sour feeling in his gut at the thought of what she’d deduced from their conversation the night before. Maybe it was watching Nathan set the table for dinner and seeing how natural he made it look. Maybe it was just _Sam_ , and the way he would never be able to slot neatly into Nathan’s new life. Whatever the reason, as Thanksgiving day dwindled to sunset, Sam felt jagged at the edges, all raw nerve endings and broken glass.

Growing up, he and Nathan had become experts at being outsiders, watching normalcy from a distance. Sam had been comfortable, maybe _too_ comfortable, with that separation. Something always pulled him towards danger and risk, and he’d been taught to follow his gut. But Nathan — Nathan had been the kid with his face pressed up against the glass, watching the world Sam had taken him from with unmistakable longing. He felt the same call for adventure that Sam did, maybe, but Nathan had always had a bleeding heart. Sam hadn’t needed anyone but his brother. The rest of the world could fuck off — no need to make nice or get attached.

He and Nate had never seen eye to eye on that.

Jesus, Sam needed a cigarette.

He managed to fake smiles and small talk through dinner before excusing himself to the back porch, where he got through two cigarettes before he heard the back door open and shut. Without turning, he knew who it was. Sam watched in his periphery as Nathan sidled up to stand beside him on the porch, the two brothers leaning against the railing and staring out into the yard. The sun was just beginning to set, pink and gold streaking the sky.

“Sully’s trying to talk everyone into playing poker,” Nathan said. “You want in?”

Sam ran his hands along the rough wood of the porch railing and tried to force the corners of his mouth up. “Ah, maybe later. Thanks, though.”

“Sure,” Nathan said. He made no move to go back inside, and Sam could feel his brother staring at him with laser intensity. Eventually, Nathan said, “Hey, you okay?”

“I’m just peachy, little brother,” Sam said, the words coming out sharper than he’d intended. There went his cover. Jesus, wasn’t he supposed to be _good_ at lying to Nathan? The thought made his fingers curl, tightening around the railing.

“Sam…”

“What, Nathan? What?” Sam finally faced him, and Nathan looked so genuinely concerned that it made Sam want to scream. Nathan shouldn’t be worrying about him. Nathan should be pissed at him — in fact, Sam _wanted_ Nathan to be pissed. He didn’t deserve an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner. What he deserved was a good sock in the jaw.

Nathan ran a hand along his mouth, hesitating, then said, “Elena told me the two of you had a little heart-to-heart last night.”

“Did she now?” Sam said coolly.

“Listen, I just want to know what’s going on with you. You’ve been off all day.”

“Why’d you invite me here, Nathan?” Sam snapped, unable to contain himself any longer. “Is this some kind of test, to see if I still belong in your life? Because lemme tell you, all of this? This ain’t me. Sorry to disappoint.”

Nathan gaped at him, completely nonplussed. “What are you _talking_ about, a test? Jesus, Sam, I invited you here because you’re my brother. I thought you’d want to be here.”

“I _do_ want — Christ. It’s not that.” Sam fumbled in his jacket pocket for his pack of cigarettes. His hand shook as he pulled one out and fitted it between his lips, lighting it and taking a long drag. Nathan waited quietly, and finally Sam said, “I’m glad this is all working out so well for you, but I, ah… I don’t exactly fit into this picture, do I?”

“Of course you do,” Nathan said automatically.

Sam shook his head. “Come on, Nathan. Look at me. Do I look like I belong in suburbia? I was never meant for life like this. And honestly, I didn’t think you were either.” Nathan opened his mouth to protest, and Sam cut him off, holding up a hand. “I dragged you into all my bullshit for years because I was a selfish asshole. This life suits you, it really does.”

Nathan’s face was pensive. He pushed away from the railing. “Sam… have you ever thought about, you know, talking to someone?”

Sam barked out a laugh. “What, like a shrink? Gimme a break.”

“I’m being serious. After everything you’ve gone through, it wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

“I’ve got my shit sorted on my own, thanks,” Sam said defensively. “If it’s such a great idea, why don’t _you_ do it?”

Nathan’s lips thinned, and he said in a lower voice, “Actually, I did. I do. Elena and I have been seeing a marriage counselor for over a year.”

Sam’s stomach flopped over. A marriage counselor? Were things worse between Nathan and Elena than they appeared? It didn’t take much to figure out what had caused the rift, and that same old guilt bubbled up to the surface. “Shit, Nathan, I’m….”

“No, no, it’s okay. It’s good. We’re good.” Nathan said quickly. “Honestly, it’s helped. After, you know, everything that happened.”

There it was — Nathan confirming the blame resided with Sam. He was clenching his teeth so hard he almost bit through his cigarette. He took it out of his mouth and pinched it between his fingers. He wished he could take so much back — the lie about Alcazar, obviously, but even more than that, he wished he never would have showed up that morning in Nathan’s office. “Y’know, it’s funny,” he said, his voice cracking despite his best efforts. “Sometimes I think you’d’ve been a lot better off if I’d just stayed dead.”

For a second, as Nathan started to move towards him, Sam thought he really _was_ going to punch him this time. But then Nathan was crushing him in a hug, and Sam’s arms flailed a little before he gingerly hugged Nathan back. Sam hadn’t been great with affection since his first stint in prison, back when Nathan was fifteen and practically still a kid. He didn’t think the two of them had hugged like this since then. Sam’s throat was tight.

“You’re so goddamn stupid,” Nathan said, breaking the hug to grab him by the shoulders instead. “Don’t you _ever_ say that crap. We both made a lot of mistakes last year, but the one thing I don’t regret is getting my brother back. You hear me?” He shook Sam a little, eyes widening.

“Yeah, alright, I got it,” Sam mumbled. He was having a hard time finding words, too busy focusing on not bawling like the complete idiot he was.

“Good,” Nathan said. He let go of Sam, suddenly looking a bit sheepish. They avoided each other’s eyes. Sam stubbed out his cigarette on the porch railing, and Nathan let out a small noise of annoyance.

“See, I don’t need a shrink. I’ll just have you shake some sense into me every once in a while. I feel better already,” Sam said.

Nathan cracked a smile. “Well, I’m always good for it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. “Listen, Sam… all the crazy shit we got into as kids? I loved that. I still do, okay? Why do you think Elena and I started the business? I know a lot’s changed, but I’m still me.”

“Sure, I know that,” Sam conceded. And he _did_ know. It was just that Nathan had gone on every adventure that Sam could’ve come up with in his wildest dreams. Adventures Sam _did_ dream of, but in his mind the two of them did it all together. Instead, Nathan got the chance to prove himself time and time again, and he was practically a legend. Sam, on the other hand, spent a good chunk of his life rotting in a cell, and now he was living in the shadow of a little brother who’d grown out of playing pirates and treasure hunters. It seemed all he was capable of doing at this point was dragging Nathan down. How the hell was Sam supposed to feel?

Shit. Maybe he needed to see a shrink after all.

“I’m sorry for ruining Thanksgiving,” he said.

Nathan smiled slightly. “It’s not ruined. In fact I’d say this is the best Thanksgiving I’ve had in fifteen years.” He turned towards the back door, beckoning Sam to follow him. “Come inside. I want to see Elena kick your ass at poker.”

“Oh really?” Sam said, raising an eyebrow. “You may have forgotten, little brother, but I am a master at poker.”

“You’ve never played against Elena,” Nathan said. “She can’t be beat, I’m tellin’ ya.”

“We’ll see,” Sam said, full of bravado.

Elena easily won three rounds of poker and didn’t fall for a single one of Sam’s bluffs, much to his chagrin. Victor, who’d had perhaps one too many after-dinner drinks, roared with laughter at the whole thing. Elena’s sister, who’d also had a few drinks, was absolutely terrible at poker and kept asking Nathan or Sam if her hand was good, blatantly showing the entire table her cards. At one point, as Victor dealt the cards for their final round, Sam looked up and caught his brother’s eye. Nathan smiled at him as if to say, _See? What’d I tell you?_

Sam couldn’t help but smile back. It would take a lot more than one Thanksgiving to clear up all the shit he’d let fester in his mind the past couple of decades, but it was a start. And Sam thought that he might just be able to get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! sam has some issues to work through but he's trying, bless him. have i mentioned that i love my son?
> 
> pls leave me a comment if you so desire, i love hearing from ppl and i'd love to talk more about this game series that i love with my whole heart!!!! you can also follow me on tumblr @ joshuawashinton if u wanna chat more! i love making friends!


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